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48 Born฀in฀England I know him! I know that boy! He was born in England, in England raised up. And now he is here—with a kind of trial on his lips, a truth; but what to say, and whom to say it to? This boy was born in England. His every move attests to that fact. For he is, certain, a walking Big Ben, tall, with crazy hands; and the bridge of his nose is London Bridge; and his hatless head is the Houses of Parliament. In a dark, in a dark, in a dark time, the boy was born in England, and went down to London, and covered up his body with English clothes, and, walking, was a suited Burberry . Now this boy was soon a man. And under the table his transactions failed; and above board they succeeded—so that he came to America, where, hand over ironclad fist, he exacted his first fistful of dollars. This boy was born in England. How sad. How uncertain. Wherever he was born, I am sure a visitor will say, How odd! How frightening! 01.Poems.1-64_Fried.indd฀฀฀48 11/28/05฀฀฀12:33:20฀PM ...

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